


Whole Day Off

by DittyWrites



Series: Gotham Rogues Kink Series [20]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Choking, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Kink Meme, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Needles, POV Second Person, Painplay, Restraints, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2020-10-02 18:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20454959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: An educational visit with Jonathan Crane, the notorious criminal known as the 'Scarecrow', takes a turn when Arkham Asylum is put into lockdown leaving you trapped in a room with the monster. Free of his bindings, you soon discover that Crane has a point to prove when it comes to fear, arousal, and the questionable barriers which separate them.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did you order this smut original recipe or extra crispy? Either way it's fingerlickin' good!

The power of a first impression should never be underestimated and if you had to choose a single adjective to describe your first impression of Jonathan Crane, it would be surprise.

Surprise at how young he looked in person compared to his professional photographs.

Surprise at how easily he answered questions surrounding his field of knowledge.

Surprise at how human he appeared to be.

The news stories and articles painted a picture of a monster, a creature which fed on human fears and held no regard for human life, but it was a difficult image to conjure while he sat here so casually and offered insight into areas which you requested. This meeting had taken weeks of work to arrange, with safety instructions and risk assessments taking up more time than anything else.

For your own protection from the monster.

Said monster was seated across from you, awaiting your next question with the patience of a man who was trained to teach others. An asylum jumpsuit hung from his frame and his shoes were the standard thin, black canvas which all inmates were required to wear. His russet hair was unkempt but his thin features held an attraction which you were willing to acknowledge. Thin wire frames partially hid his icy blue eyes but the sharp intellect and unflinching intensity which projected from them caused a jump in your pulse every time they met your own.

These thoughts aside, his reputation still preceded him and the apprehension within your gut, despite the positive response thus far, was understandable.

The lack of restraints around his wrists and ankles had been your idea. 'To capture a more genuine response' had been the argument you had put forth and the asylum staff had agreed under the very strict instruction that the security cameras remained on at all times and that two guards remained stationed safely outside the door.

An easy agreement to make at the time but as the interview progressed and the general sounds of screaming and chaos which permeated the asylum began to grow in volume, the anxiety within you grew. Crane, perhaps more used to it than yourself, did not respond to any of it and continued to cite various pieces of research relevant to your work.

And then the lights cut out.

You gasp in horror as the room is plunged into darkness but almost as quickly as they disappeared the smaller lights which were fixed into the corners of the room sprang to life and a metallic click, like a lock slamming into place, made itself known. Leaning back against your chair, the soft silk of your scarf cushioned the harshness of the metal as your eyes flicker around in panic.

“What's going on?” You ask loudly, directing the question towards the security camera in the corner as the sound of muffled yelling comes from outside the door, followed by the sound of frantic footsteps which grow fainter and fainter.

“The power to Arkham has been cut so everything has went into lockdown.” Returning your attention to Crane, fear pierces you as you watch him rise slowly, his height causing him to tower over you, “Which means that all cell doors have been sealed shut until the security cameras can power up again.” He pauses and indicates the nearby door with a thin finger. “As do the meeting rooms.”

The fear rising in your chest is now making your breath come in short bursts as the reality of being trapped within this small space with such a notorious criminal set it. No matter how civil he had been, he was still a murderer and responsible for more horrors that you could care to count.

Steadying yourself for a moment to pull together some bravery, you jump to your feet and make a break for the metal door, fists balled and ready to bang as hard as possible to draw attention. You suspect the guards might have left but surely someone had to be around.

They wouldn't just leave you here.

However, before you could catch enough air to issue a scream or sound any alarm, thin hands wrap around your shoulders, twisting you in position and slamming your back against the hard wall at the side of the door. Crane's hand instantly moves to cover your mouth as he clamps down hard.

“If you scream or make any loud noise,” his voice was soft but the threat was serious as he fixed you into position with his thin body, “I will kill you, do you understand me?”

You move your head in a shaky nod.

“Good girl.” Removing his hand, the warmth of his body on your own remained and the intimacy of it sent a tremor of fear through your core.

Trapped.

“Do you know who I am?” Crane rasped, his icy eyes pinning you in place and making it impossible to look elsewhere. “What I have done and what I am?”

“You're Jonathan Crane,” you whisper shakily, his close proximity now allowing you to see the slight stubble which was decorating his jaw and the small, jagged scar that sat just atop his upper lip, “and you are the Scarecrow. You're obsessed with fear and using it against people.”

At that final statement, a flash of desire had crossed his gaze and something warm stirs in your gut, intertwining with the chill of the anxiety. There was an attraction but he was dangerous and both these thoughts rattled within your mind as you focussed on settling your breathing.

“And what are you afraid of, child?”

As he asked the question, his hand shot up to grasp roughly at your throat and the unexpectedness of the action mixed with the pressure on the sensitive skin beneath his fingers caused a low moan to escape you.

“You.”

Drawing back in surprise as he registered the moan, a look of calculation entered Crane's expression and he pulled back slightly to take in your appearance and body language. Embarrassed, you avoid his gaze and attempt to deny the wetness you can feel developing between your legs as you shift in place.

“Interesting.” You hear him mutter.

Leaning in close enough that his breath tickles the bridge of your nose, Crane examines your eyes.  
“Pupil dilation.”

He spoke clearly, the only hints to his excitement being the way his voice would catch on certain syllables as he continued his assessment. His free hand, warm to the touch, lifted your arm in the space between you both so you could view the subtle shaking of your fingers as they responded to the arousal within you.

“Limbs trembling.”

His leg pushes forward against your thighs and your body responds accordingly, legs spreading at the knees as the pressure of his upper thigh rests against your groin. As his leg pushes up firmly, the increase in pressure draws another groan from your lips. Struggling to comprehend the turn of events, you allow your body to lead your actions as your mind gives in to the conflicting emotions within.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

Fingers shaking with the effort, you follow his demands with little protest. You could deny him, but you find you're unable, too under the thrall of lust and danger. The residual fear within you is at war with something far more dangerous and the anticipation of what was to happen, what could happen, is enough to make your mouth dry.

By the third button, his patience is at an end and he smacks your shaky hands away in a demeaning fashion before slipping his hand within your shirt, the gesture making you gasp and rub against his thigh as his warmth comes to rest on the soft skin below your collarbone.

“Erratic heartbeat.”

Allowing his hand to rest there for a moment, you can feel the rush of blood within your ears spike as his hand continues to slide down.

“Increased sensitivity.”

Voice husky with his own arousal, Crane's hand now gropes at your breast with a rough urgency, only pausing the assault to roll your nipple between two fingers in a savage pinch. The pain is only momentary but in its wake it leaves a pleasant ache which makes you bite your lip as your back arches towards his chest, seeking out more.

Apparently willing to give, he continues with the harsh ministrations as he summarises his findings.

“All senses peaked and receptive to stimulus.”

The grip on your neck tightens as Crane bends your head to the side, exposing the sensitive flesh of your neck, and you can only whine as you feel his tongue stroke a leisurely line down towards your collarbone. A whine which grows in pitch as hard teeth replace the soft tongue and you realise that he has bitten you. Not hard enough to draw blood but as the area continues to throb while he pulls away, you know that a bruise will be sure to have developed by the morning.

“Fear and arousal, arousal and fear.” He murmurs, apparently lost in thought, and you jump in place as his hand makes itself known on your upper thigh, having slipped beneath your skirt covertly as he held your attention elsewhere, and he slowly creeps it up towards your core. “Fear controls everything. It controls our actions, our thoughts, our bodies.” The knuckles of his hand brushes against your inner thigh and your own hands tighten their grip on the fabric of his asylum jumpsuit.

“The misattribution of arousal. Even now your body is struggling to decide if you should be afraid of the madman before you or aroused by what he is doing to you.” Pausing his roving assessment of your body, his face draws back to your own and an intense look, clouded by lust and promising trouble, presses you for a response. “So which is it?”

“Both.” You pant, unable to prevent pressing your body down to seek out his hand. “I feel both.”

Humming in consideration, Crane ponders the response and your body rocks in place as his hand suddenly thrusts upwards, the pads of his fingers running along the cotton of your panties and taking the breath from you. The wetness there immediately betrays your arousal and a flush of embarrassment rises in your cheeks as you instinctively grind into his palm, throwing caution to the wind and craving more stimulation.

Responding to your unspoken demand, he pulls aside the thin fabric and runs his thumb along your slit, brushing over your clit with a calloused thumb and making your hips buck in place as you groan. Obviously pleased with your response to his stimulus, he pulls his thumb away and replaces it with two fingers which he coats in your juices before thrusting them unceremoniously inside you.

Throwing your head back against the wall, one of your hands breaks free of its jumpsuit grip and instead comes to rest atop the one which Crane still has locked around your throat as you fight for some stability against the rough treatment.

His fingers continue to explore you, curling within before dipping out to rub along your slit as you squirm in position, and you are forced to bite down harshly on your lip to keep your cries from becoming too loud.

As you writhe in his grasp, Crane stares down at you. His mouth is set into a firm line as he works you over but his eyes are alight with a lively mixture of lust and curiosity

“What's my name?”

“Jonathan.” You stammer out, one of your legs lifting off the ground as he uses his thumb to grind against your clit. “J-Jonathan Crane.”

A particularly rough thrust of his fingers matches the shake of his head as you cry out in pleasure, the added stimulation from the small bundle of nerves bypassing your sense of preservation.

“Scarecrow! Scarecrow!”

Growling at the term, Crane continues with his punishing pace as he works his two fingers inside you, and the long digits cause sparks behind your eyes as they brush your g-spot. The sounds of your frantic breathing are only broken by the moans and pleas which escape your lips as you spur him on with rolling hips while pushing against his hand as much as possible. His grip around your throat contracts and detracts with his thrusts, never blocking your airway but also never giving the illusion that you have any chance of escape.

Like the events leading up to it, the first waves of your orgasm hit you fast and rough and all you can do is whimper and continue to roll your body as the stimulation from both inside and outside your core cause you to ride out your high on his fingers. The skin of your thighs growing more slick as they are coated in your arousal, your nails digging deeply into the back of his hand as you use his thin arm for support.

As your orgasm slowly begins to fade, his pace fades with it until he withdraws his fingers and brings them to your face. Without hesitating you take them greedily into your own mouth, tasting yourself and earning a rumble of appreciation from Crane's chest as he watches you clean your own mess.

The obvious tent in his trousers draws your attention and you brush your fingers against it, only to have them smacked away once again with an open palm.

“Do you not want-” You trail off, gesturing at his crotch. It was only fair, after all, and the thought of Crane in a similar position to yourself was a heady thought.

Too tempting to resist.

“We lack the time and life has made me a patient man.” He explained, stroking your cheek with the same hand he had used to pleasure you. “Delayed gratification makes the prize all the sweeter. The longer something takes to break, the greater the victory when it does.”

Now confused as to why he was continuing to hold you in place by the neck if he did not expect anything in return, you make a soft effort to slip free of his grasp but are reward with his immediate tightening of his fingers instead.

“Who owns you?”

Your mind still in shambles and struggling to process, the words don't fully register aside from igniting the smouldering arousal within you.

So you hesitate.

“Who owns you?” The authority in his voice was undeniable as Crane repeats the question. Quick to anger over your perceived disobedience, his thumb shifts position to press against the developing bruise on your neck, the result of his earlier bite.

Breathless, it falls from your lips.

“You do.”

Again, his piercing stare holds your own and, satisfied with the truth within your words, he finally releases your throat from his grasp.

“You are very responsive to stimulus. It is amusing to watch.” He offers up non-nonchalantly, checking the clock on the wall as he returns to the small metal desk and reseats himself. “We have less than a minute before the power returns to the door and cameras. I suggest you fix yourself.”

Glancing down at your body, your chest still heaving with the remnants of your orgasm, you realise that the encounter had left you in some state. Fingers twitching, you quickly re-button the top half of your shirt and fix the material of your skirt before smoothing the front of it down back into a more professional manner.

As a last second precaution you wind your scarf around your neck to hide the signs of bruising.

As if on queue, the main light within the room spring back to life and within a few seconds the metal door found itself slammed open by two guards, their matching expressions of rage and distress immediately softening as they take in your unharmed state.

“You okay, Miss?” One guard approaches you while the other goes to check on Crane, “There wa-”

He was interrupted by a loud grunt and the telltale sound of handcuffs clinking as the other guard realises that-

“Christ, Jack. He didn't have any cuffs on.”

Three pairs of eyes land on you, two filled with concern and one a mixture of amusement and disinterest, as you stare out the guard who had initially spoken to you.

“Yeah, i'm fine.”

“He didn't try any,” the guard makes an odd gesture towards his own head while twisting his face, “y'know?”

It would be easily to claim ignorance, to say he had taken advantage of you while you were vulnerable but the words rang hollow even inside your head. Crane was correct, there was little separating fear and arousal, and you had been a willing participant in your own undoing.

“He stayed seated in the chair the entire time,” you lie, the words coming easily, “the security cameras will be able to show what happened.”

“Security cameras were down, Miss. Not to make you alarmed or anything but they take time to reboot.” The guard inclined his head to you in apology and you have the grace to look aghast at the information.

“I think it's time I leave.” Your legs shakier that you would like, you bend to retrieve your bag from the floor before straightening up fully. Choosing to be brave, you hold Crane's gaze as you address him directly. “Thank you for your help, Doctor Crane. Your insight has given me,” you pause, “a lot to think about.”

Tilting his head, his lips quirk up into an amused smirk before vanishing just as quickly.

“When writing your paper, remember that the point of delayed gratification is the certainty on behalf of the individual that the gratification will be fulfilled.” His tone were casual, bored even, but there was an underlying bite within the words which cause the hairs on your neck to stand on end. “I'll be watching your progress with a keen eye.”

Unsure if he was issuing you with a threat or promise, or perhaps even both, you allow the guards to shuffle you from the room and it is only when the metal door creaks shut behind you that you release the breath which you were unaware you had been holding. As the guards make small talk behind your back, a distinct feeling that you have just traded a part of yourself in some Faustian bargain creeps into your thoughts.

The misattribution of arousal. That's what Crane had called it. The mind misinterpreting fear as lust and forcing the body to respond accordingly. It was an easy out to take, to blame the stress of the situation for your actions, but you knew they held no truth as a flush overcome your cheeks as you acknowledge the subtle ache which remains between your legs.

Recalling your initial thoughts on Crane, a slight smile curls your lips as you wonder if he also believes in making a strong first impression.

He most certainly had.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the updated tags for any warnings lmao. I have tried to be somewhat thorough and this is easily the longest piece of smut i have EVER written for one sitting. I also deliberately left most physical descriptions vague as hell so that y'all can imprint as much as ye like lol
> 
> But this wee Part 2 is a gift for all those who have supported my fic over time since i think i'm going to have to stop for a long while and i want to leave y'all with something i hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you xx

Pushing aside the stiff door which led down to the basement level of the small warehouse, you are surprised to find that the basement is slightly warmer than you expected but just on the right side of cool as you traverse down the dilapidated stairs. The scent of damp wood is subtle and offset by an acrid smell which reminds you of high school chemistry class.

The basement is a wide space with only one area segmented off with a thin, clear curtain and looking beyond that you can see a long workbench with various papers and writing utensils strewn across it and small drawers built beneath it. On one end of the bench is a collection of scientific equipment, some of which you recognise and some you do not, regardless its spotless appearance speaks of its recent use and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you realise just how foolish you are.

In one of the darker corners of the room you can see a mannequin, its shaped figure decorated by a costume which you had spent more time than you would admit to having studied in your time since your encounter with its owner within the asylum. The sharp tip of the hat had folded over to one side and the insane urge to walk over and touch it gripped you, but you fought against it as you wiped your wet palms against the smooth fabric of your skirt.

The only other piece of furniture within the space was in the middle of the room, beneath the bare light which provided dim illumination for the whole room. It appeared to be a hospital gurney, but the wheels has been removed and the ends has instead been bolted into the concrete of the floor; suggesting that anyone who was restrained there was not expected to be leaving anytime soon. The gurney itself looked clean with no suspicious tearing or staining anywhere across the exposed canvas or the small plastic covering the end of it.

No one knew you were here. There was no way to alert someone as to your whereabouts without also having to come clean about your intentions. Logically, the smart thing to do would have been to ignore the instructions you had been given, possibly go into hiding, and refuse to acknowledge the situation which you had allowed yourself to be part of. However, logic is easily overruled when desire, emotion and adrenaline have their claws sunk so deeply within you.

Everything had started, as things often do, with a phone call.

_The buzz of the phone against your leg drew your attention away from the documents you were skimming through on the computer screen. A quick glance revealed an unknown number and your eyebrow raised as you answered._

_“Hello?”_

_“I see your paper was published with considerable accolade. Congratulations.”_

_Shock rocketed through your system as the phone almost slipped from your grasp. You knew that voice. It was a voice you had not heard in weeks but the indulgent yet clinical quality of it made it unmistakable. It was a voice you had heard in those dreams which left you gasping and unfulfilled and which you replayed within your mind as you found relief in your own hand._

_“Doctor Crane?”_

_Silence._

_“Scarecrow?”_

_“You remember. Fantastic.” His voice lowered on the final word and your pulse jumped in response._

_“What…what do you want?” You ask, the memories of your last encounter and his closing words at the forefront of your mind._

_“I want what I am owed. I am going to give you an address. Go there within the hour.”_

_Too stunned to say anything you remain silent for a moment with the only sound between you being your laboured breathing._

_“Find this address.” He continued._

_As he feeds you the address, you scribble it down hastily onto the palm of your hand unsure as to why you are following his instructions but being unable to resist. You do, however, follow up with a question of your own, “I thought you said you would come find me?”_

_A pause through the phone but you swore you heard a slight huff of amusement._

_“I don’t make house calls.”_

_“What if I don’t want to come?” You ask, unable to stop the question from spilling from your lips._

_“Then I will come find you and the outcome will not be as enjoyable. For you anyway. Do you remember what we agreed when we last met? Who do you belong to?”_

_“You.” You whisper quietly._

_“What was that?” He asked sharply._

_“You.” You pause. “What are you going to do with me?”_

_“You will find out later. What I need for the moment is for you to answer some questions. Answer honestly otherwise you will come to regret it when the examination begins._

And like a fool, you had obeyed.

Continuing to follow the instructions which had been provided you remove your jacket and scarf, depositing them on the nearby floor, leaving you in your preferred shirt and skirt combo as you hop onto the edge of the gurney and await the appearance of the doctor.

You did not have long to dwell as the door to the basement swung open and heavy footsteps descended the stairs. The first thing that draws your attention is how much healthier he looked than the last time you had met; his freedom from the asylum clearly agreeing with him. Long gone was the unflattering jumpsuit, now replaced with dark slacks and a white shirt- not unlike your own- which were both neatly presented beneath a simple, white lab coat. 

Glasses, the wireframes of which looked well-worn and comfortable, were perched across his nose and your attention was quickly absorbed by the hungry look within his eyes which seemed at war with the clinical detachment which he was attempting to display.

Gripped between his fingers was a clipboard but the details on the paper were tactfully tilted away from your vision as he approached.

“You can follow instructions,” his deep voice washed over you, the naturally hoarse quality of it making your mouth go dry, “good. Smart. Although not smart enough to have run when the boogeyman came to call.” He drawled off.

Squaring your jaw with all the confidence you could muster; you hold his clinical gaze as your lips tilt into a smirk.

“I always scored highly in problem-solving, common sense is where my issues are.”

“Witty girl,” he fired back, tapping the back of the clipboard with a neatly-trimmed fingernail, “I wonder how quickly that brazen attitude would crumble under my toxin? How long that fire would last when being smothered by the horrors which exist in the dark.”

A thrill of anxiety shoots through you. The toxin. The elephant in the room. He had not threatened you with it or even alluded to its use at any point in your game but the undeniable danger of its presence and use was ever present.

There was little you could do if he chose to use it at this point and you both knew it.

You hoped that the implicit trust you had shown by even agreeing to this little meeting was enough to dissuade him from using it. He did not seem a man who liked to break his toys without purpose.

“It’s so rare that I even get a chance to perform a physical examination of a subject before any further testing can be undertaken,” he muttered and his words were tinged with excitement as he paced around you, “so expect me to be thorough.”

Looking up from his clipboard, he surveys your outfit for a moment before gesturing towards your shirt with a sharp finger.

“Remove your clothing: all of it.”

Shuffling forward so that you can slip off the edge of the gurney, you feel a flash of heat burning across your cheeks as you start to unbutton your shirt. Your tryst within the asylum had been short-lived and very little of your clothing had been disturbed, not only that but from his expectant look you could tell that he had no plans to undress himself.

Leaving you vulnerable.

The warmth of the room was pleasant so the shudder which racked your frame was undeniable in its origin as your clothing dropped to the floor in a messy pile. Having chosen a simple light blue underwear set which complimented your skin, you were pleased that you had enough time at home to spruce yourself up with a quick shave and some moisturiser before leaving.

Reaching around to unhook your bra, you hesitate slightly as you grip the clasp. A ridiculous feeling of this being the point of no return knocked at your mind, seemingly ignoring the fact that you were doomed from the moment you first stepped foot within this basement. Inhaling deeply, you release the clasp and allow the bra to the floor; quickly following the bold move by hooking your fingers within your panties and pulling them free before placing them atop the pile as well.

Focusing on your breath, you resist the urge to cover yourself with your hands, the inherent shame of being nude making you feel like the blush which was decorating your face extended across your entire body. Your eyes draw up from the floor and settle on Crane once again only to find that his gaze is already locked on to your own, his expression blank but with an unmistakable glint of interest in his eyes which seemed darker than then were moments before.

“On the bed. I will need to examine your upper half.”

The hoarseness of his voice had deepened slightly and the baritone nature of it created a tug of arousal within your navel as you followed the good doctor’s instructions and retook your seated position on the bed. One quick swivel and you lay back against the gurney, the canvas fabric comfortable against your skin without being too slippery or soft, and you flattened your hands against it to quell the trembling of your fingers as you await his next move.

Having abandoned his clipboard to the side, you watch as he approaches you and a shiver runs down your spine as he places his hand along your jaw and makes first contact. His hand is cool on your heated flesh and the pad of his thumb rests atop your lips for a moment. As it lingers, the tip of your tongue emerges to meet the pad of his finger and while he gives no indication you can tell that he is pleased with your submissiveness. He traces the outline of your lips before his hand drops and slips around your exposed neck.

Your breath hitches as his grip tightens, enough to place a steady pressure on your windpipe but not enough to truly start constricting it yet, and you tilt your head up to allow him easier access. A move which causes the corners of his mouth to twitch as his free hand makes itself known on your clavicle before faintly tracing a line down to your stomach and back up again.

Slipping his hand to the side, a soft grunt escapes you as he roughly grasps at your left breast, his spindly fingers kneading the flesh there to elicit a response which you willingly give. The grunt dissolves in a moan of pleasurable discomfort as he switches attention to the nipple; pulling and pinching at the sensitive bud until it visibly reddens and enlarges slightly. The hand around your throat twitches as he repeats the movements with the other breast, his actions causing the heated arousal within you to flare dangerously as your thighs shifted together subconsciously.

“Responsive,” he mutters, more to himself than you, “very much so.”

“Um, thank you?” You offer, unsure what he was looking for.

“Quiet,” the fingers around your throat clench as he finally locks back into your gaze, “you only speak when questioned. Understand?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Your throat fits perfectly in my grip, I wonder how beautiful it would look as it conjures screams and strains against the sounds trying to break free from within.” As he speaks, he moves forward slightly, and his hard length makes its presence known against your arm. Glancing to the side, you can see the visible tent from within the slacks and curiosity joins the myriad of thoughts with your mind since he has seen all of you and you’ve yet to get a glimpse of him.

He continues, “It will some require further testing before that point.”

Confused for a moment, you struggle to recall what the topic of conversation was before your thoughts drifted. Ah yes. Your throat. But what kind of testing coul-

Your unspoken question was answered as his free hand quickly unlatched his slacks and tugged at the zipper to release his cock from its confines.

Ah.

As he lazily stroked his hand along his cock, your attention was focused on the hard length as it was presented to you. It looked clean, which you were thankful for, and the darkened pubic hair around the base appeared to be in some order which- while not being as neatly trimmed as you would like- certainly was not too off-putting. It was longer than most cocks you had seen before, not too thick, and seemed to tilt at a slight angle.

Not that you were expecting it to be double-pronged or barbed or anything like that, but you were amused by how normal it looked. He was just a man like any other.

Well, almost.

Holding his cock at the base, he guided it towards your mouth, and you accept it without any qualms as you part your lips and wrap your tongue around the end of it. The heat of his cock was unexpected, and you hollow out your cheeks as you make a valiant effort to entice him, the desire to please him as much as possible spurring you on. Running your tongue along the length earns you a low rumble of pleasure and springs him into action as he guides your head slightly to encourage you to pick up rhythm.

Head bobbing as you lean over the edge of the gurney, your thoughts again shift to the length of his cock and how well it seems to represent him, it was almost funny but you knew better than to laugh. The salty taste of pre-cum enters your senses and this, mixed with the increased pace of his hips as he bucks into your mouth, lets you know that he’s enjoying himself. As he thrusts against your face, you find your head held in a vice-like grip as he buries himself down your throat, cutting off your air-supply momentarily and causing your hand to claw against his wrist in a panic.

Coughing and spluttering as he lets go, you draw back and your vision is blurred by watery eyes which you brush away with the back of your hand. Before you can fully get a hold of yourself, he’s pushing back inside your mouth and you can tell that he’s close to finishing as his movements become more erratic and careless. Attempting to relax your jaw, you allow him to use you and the degrading nature of the allowance has your hand slipping along your thigh, picking up the juices which has smeared there as you slip a hand towards your aching core.

Dipping a finger between your folds, the sensation barely registered before you found your hand wrenched away and pinned against the canvas as his movements paused for a moment and disapproving eyes settled on your own.

“Do that again and I’ll tie you down so that you cannot move an inch.”

Shivering at the idea, you nod meekly and keep your hand where he placed it even as he releases it and resumes his assault on your mouth as his hands again latch on to your head. A loud grunt is the only warning you receive before his cock twitches and his orgasm hits; the unexpected release catching you off guard but his grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to accept it as you swallow down everything he has to give.

Eventually his grip loosens, and he pulls free from your mouth, tucking himself back into his slacks with little preamble and a look of cool professionalism. Conversely, you can feel the chaos of your appearance as your throat aches from the brutal assault and your eyes water once again as your hand rises to make a vain attempt to fix your hair which seems in disarray from his rough treatment.

“Throat examination is satisfactory,” he announces, glancing over his abandoned clipboard, “and I am finished with the upper body examination as a whole.”

Once again dropping a hand to your chest, he squeezes your breast roughly and it draws a loud gasp from you as your back arches to meet his grip.

“Very satisfactory.” He repeats. “Now on to the lower half examination.”

The detached nature of his speech incited the lewd excitement which felt as though it were firing across each of your nerves and the slickness of your thighs responded according, rubbing together gently to create some friction for your neglected core.

His cool hands made themselves known on your stomach and started to slip lower, brushing past your pelvis and leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake as they came to rest on your outer thighs. Sharp nails draw a gasp of surprise from you as he scores a line down your right thigh and from your reclined position you can faintly see the developing red mark as the blood rushes to the affected area.

Obviously pleased with the response, you can only shuffle in position as he massages the skin there and the surprising gentleness of the touch leaves you wanting more while being suspicious of his intent. Crane was not a man known for his soft side and your suspicions were met as his hand slipped around the edge, following the natural curve of your body, and came to rest on the side of your ass. Before you could fire him a questioning glance, his grip tightens and your breath hitches as he openly gropes the flesh there with a rough kneading motion.

It’s uncomfortable but not unpleasant as the action sends an electric spark of heat through you and you can’t help but press against his hand as it pulls away and once again comes to rest on your throat, drawing your attention back to his face.

“Time for the internal exam.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Inhaling deeply, you barely have time to adjust before his grip appears on your inner thighs and wrenches your legs apart, baring everything to his hungry gaze. You can feel the slickness of your sex and are a little embarrassed by how wet you must appear to be. However, if the slight smirk which now graced the corner of Crane’s lips was anything to go by, he did not seem to mind.

A cool finger tracing along your slit drew a muffled moan from your throat but it quickly switched into a strangled gasp as the finger was thrust unceremoniously within you, meeting no resistance as it was coated with your juices and extracted before being pushed in once again.

“Oh my god.” You mutter, one arm rising to cover your eyes as you squeeze them shut against it before running your hand through your hair as a second finger was inserted with the first. Building up a smooth yet rapid pace, he pumped his fingers within you harshly and the sudden onslaught of stimulation after such neglect had you panting like a virgin.

You had missed those long fingers. In the dark of the night when you moved frantically against yourself as you recalled that fateful day in the asylum, those fingers featured heavily in your fantasies as you replayed the events.

The wait was worth it.

A third finger was introduced and with it came the pleasurable ache of a stretch as he worked all three within you, the long digits brushing areas within which sent jolts of pleasure throughout your entire groin.

“Are you going to come, witty girl?” He asked, a knowing lilt to his voice giving the question a patronising quality.

“Yes.” And you were, his fingers having brought you close enough to the edge that just a little bit more would send you tumbling over it, “Please.”

In place of an answer, he quickened his pace, his fingers drawing out enough to give a satisfying thrust but not far enough to escape you, as he pushed them within you greedily and his thumb came to rest against your clit, offering that extra level of stimulation needed. 

Encouraged by his words and the unexpected rough movement against your clit, you feel the band of arousal within snap as your orgasm hits. A deep warbled groan is all you can manage as the waves of pleasure wash over you and the heels of your feet shuffle against the canvas as they twitch in place.

Breathing heavily as you feel his fingers pull free from your soaked core, you find them pressed against your lips and you accept them within your mouth without question, the strength of your orgasm having robbed you of any fight at the moment. Tasting yourself, the tangy juices were not too unpleasant, and you draw your tongue across his fingers, cleaning them to the best of your ability.

“Good girl,” Crane commented, and the words were almost a purr as he seemed visibly happy with how well you were responding to him, “you’ve done well so far.” Blushing at the unexpected praise, you give him a soft smile, “But now we begin the real test.”

The apprehension was back in an instant and it was only made worse as he reached beneath the gurney and extracted the straps which made up the restraints which were built into the bed.

“Place your arms and hands flat against the canvas.” He demanded, his hands splayed on either side of you as he held one of the straps aloft and ready to be secured.

Panic set in and your eyes subconsciously darted towards the stairs which led from the basement, seeking out a possible escape route.

“Would you try to run?” Sounding amused, Crane peered down and from this angle he almost seemed like a hawk, a predatory just playing with its prey for the amusement, “If I caught you, I would have to inject you with my toxin to keep you where I wanted you. Very disappointing. Do you think you could escape me?”

“I don’t-,” you begin but cut yourself off as your thoughts whirl, “The toxin will kill me.”

“I have no plans to use my toxin on you today, witty girl,” he confessed, expression still predatory despite the intent to soothe, “but I do have other tests to run.”

“Will they hurt?” You hate how small your voice sounds and you clear your throat to strengthen it. “If you kill me then-”

“Killing you serves no purpose,” running a finger across your jawline, he seems to be speaking to himself as much as you, “and for my tests there is nothing that I suspect you cannot handle. Those masochistic tendencies have piqued my interest and I want to see where their limits lie.” He dipped his head to brush against your cheek as he muttered into your ear, “Don’t you?”

“What?” You breathe back, “No, yes…maybe.” 

Everything was too much. Arousal and fear. Fear and arousal. What he had done to you and what he could do you. The arousal of the past and the fear of the potential. All wrapped up and warped into one overwhelming feeling which could only result in one answer.

“Yes.”

“Then place your arms and hands flat against the canvas.” He demanded once more, whatever soothing demeanour he had been willing to put on now melting away as he secured the strap across your stomach, pinning your upper body and arms to the gurney.

His fingers held your wrist as the joint was locked into the padded restraints which were set into the side of the canvas and he quickly repeated the feat with the other wrist as well. One final strap across your legs, just above the knee, and you were securely strapped into place. The soft material of the straps were not uncomfortable against your skin, but as they were pulled tightly, it was enough to ensure that they were a constant reminder of your inability to escape.

Running a palm along your heaving breasts, the raised nubs of your nipples were once again subject to his ministrations as he lazily tweaked them between pinched fingers as he explained the next aspect of the examination.

“Your physical responses have been good thus far, but we need to further test your sensitivity to various stimuli, including pain. This will take place over a series of small tests which will include some equipment which will be explained as we continue.”

Moving away from the gurney for a moment to pick something up from a nearby metal plate, Crane quickly returns, and your eyes widen at the item clutched within his palm. It looked a little brutal and the sharp points of the implement cause your apprehension to spike as your teeth bite at your lower lip without any prompting.

“This is a wartenberg wheel,” he explained, his eyes flicking down to your bitten lip and a smirk tilts his own lips as he notes the anxious act, “often used to test the nerve endings of those who have sustained burns which may have resulted in nerve damage. An interesting tool. Particularly useful for subjects who suffer from trypanophobia as the needle-like points are enough to induce terror.”

As he spoke of his work, both his actions and words grew more animated than they had been throughout this encounter this far and this point was not lost on you. The menacing and malignant manner in which he discussed his actions as the infamous Scarecrow gave him a vitality which was dangerously charming yet perverse.

Placing the pinwheel on your abdomen, you fight the immature urge to suck in your stomach to keep it away from him and instead focus on the slight point of cold metal as it pressed against your skin. With no warning, he drew the wheel slowly up your stomach and the points seemed to alternate between light scrapings and more intense pinpricks as he tested the durability of your soft skin underneath the sharp edges. It was not unbearable but the mild torment was enough to have you squirming in place.

Your orgasm was long past, but the steady build-up of his actions mixed with how undeniably turned-on the whole affair was making you had your entire sex aching with the need for further stimulation. Twisting your wrists within their restraints, you take a moment to mourn your loss of mobility as it was preventing any form of self-pleasure or relief.

Moving upwards, Crane ran the pinwheel across your clavicle and the pressure of the needles was enough to make your breath catch as the pinpoints of pain alit across the area but not deep enough to break the skin and draw blood. It was as exhilarating as it was seductive and the knowledge that at any point he could drive it deeper within your skin kept a crude unease in play. 

His hands were delicate as they handled the pinwheel and you gasp as the cold points of metal pricked a line dangerously close to your nipple. Jumping in place, you push against the restraints as he continues to paint stripes of dots across your breasts and thighs, the sharp jolts of pain mixing with the growing pleasure of the eroticism of the whole thing. Held in place by a madman and subject to his every whim was not how you thought this week would end but the telling ache of your sex and how strongly you wanted more was a telling sign of how willing your participation was.

Calloused hands replaced the metal and you groan as your back arches into his touch when he gropes you in a merciless grasp, the increased sensitivity which the pinwheel leaves in its wake making his rough touch even more intense. The tingle of the flesh mixing with the pain was not enough to off-set it, forcing you to claw at the canvas of the gurney as you whimper your discomfort.

“Arousal and fear, pain and pleasure,” tilting his head as he held your pained expression, you watched the lust flash within his gaze as he considered you, “so similar and yet so different. All sharing a common origin.”

Thankfully, his hands once again receded, and you felt your shoulders sink a little as some of the tension escaped you even as you curl under his gaze.

“Onto the next; one step further.”

Rubbing the palm of one of his hands across the tent in his slacks, a slight groan slipped past his lips but he quickly covered it with a cough as he pulled his glasses free and wiped them with the edge of his shirt.

“You have shown no signs of trypanophobia which makes this next test much easier to administer-”

“And what if I had?” You ask, cutting across his speech and conveniently forgetting about the no speaking rule.

“It changes nothing for me,” he answers, his frown twisting into something more sadistic as he continues, “except for maybe removing some of the fun from this next exercise.”

Slipping a hand within the pocket of his slacks, he extracts a small item and you cannot quite make out what it is until he shifts his body to face you fully. Showcasing the item between his fingers, alarm laced with a depraved curiosity rockets through you as you observe the thin medical-grade needle, un-opened within its small packaging, and realise his intentions.

“Where to place it?” He hummed, playing with you despite your obvious fear as his fingers trailed across your prone body, brushing the skin gently as a wave of gooseflesh wracked your frame. His thumb finally settled against your left nipple, circling the bud there almost absent-mindedly as he continued to speak his thoughts, “So responsive and sensitive.”

His fingers left you and you watch as he rips the packaging open, testing the edge of the needle against his nail with a bored expression. Anticipation, fear, and some strange torrid concoction of both floods your nerves and you know what is coming. Tensing your body as your breath comes in short pants, you try to prepare yourself.

A cry breaks forth from your lips as he presses the needle though the sensitive nub, tears immediately pricking at your eyes as the sharp pain bursts through your chest. Your fingers curl against the canvas, short nails not long enough to do any damage, and your stomach strains against the restraints out of sheer instinct. Vague memories of your first time having your ears pierced flitted through your mind and you shook them away, the two experiences having absolutely no comparison.

The slightest drip of wet crawls across your breast and you register that it is a droplet of blood; a realisation which provokes a fresh, carnal mewl as you watch him taking in your reaction. However, given its nature, the pain was quick to dull into an unpleasant ache as your natural endorphins provide a rush of euphoria which makes your head spin for a beat before settling, your chest heaving in place with the effort.

Another flash of stinging pain alights in your chest, raw and hot, and you know that he has taken advantage of your distracted state to pierce your other nipple. A low whine is all that he gets this time as you bite sharply at your lower lip in surprise, your body thrashing against the canvas before dropping limp as the pain once again slowly faded into nothing more than an uncomfortable throb.

Glancing down at your chest, you can see the green, plastic caps of the needles as they point towards you and you have to blink away the wetness which has gathered in your eyes. Tilting to the side, you allow the tear to fall but it is quickly wiped away by a spindly finger and their leering owner. Euphoria blending with the pain makes your head swim once again and you squeeze your thighs together as much as you can within the restraints, it was a scalding delirium and the hazy nature of your thoughts only made the pleasure more intense.

Playfully flicking the left needle, he succeeds in eliciting a soft keen from you as the move disturbs the metal and creates a flash of torment within the sensitive nub. A sound which seems to please him as he whistles a vague tune while reaching within his pocket and you watch him pull out one final needle.

“Excellent. You react very well to stimuli, however, there is one further area of the body which I am tempted to test as I am interested in just how sensitive you truly are.”

The uncanny flightiness of the words immediately put you on edge as he trails the edge of the needle down your skin, ghosting along the straps of the restraints until it came to rest on your upper thigh, just to the side of your sex.

Whatever apprehension that had plagued you previous to this was forgotten as a full-bodied panic gripped you. Yeah, you had masochistic tendencies and you were willing to admit that but this? This was too much and you writhe against the restraints with a violent jostle as you resist this latest test; your movements growing more frantic as his fingers slid against your sex once again, spreading you open wide enough to give him access despite the limited space due to the straps holding you in place.

“Relax, witty girl,” he growls and the warning within his tone is clear enough to give you reason to pause, “I do not have a piercing in mind for this one, but I will if you keep this up. The thought of the screams which I could draw from you with this little trick is already tempting enough so it would not be wise to push me.”

Genuine fear gripped your mind and it must have reflected within your expression as a savage glee alit within his eyes, merging with the arousal and once again giving him a sadistic countenance which was unmistakable. 

With great effort, you force your body to relax and instead concentrate on the cool feeling of his fingers as they slipped between your folds, attempting to gain purchase against the slick skin there. Finally, he did, and you held your breath in anticipation as you watched him lean in to torment you in whichever way he clearly desired.

Rather than pierce the flesh, he drew the point of the needle at an angle across your clit slowly and the small bundle of nerves responded accordingly, afflicting you with an almost raw sensation of pure pleasure which was borderline painful in how intensely it sparked across your groin. Repeating the feat, it was shocking how quickly the unyielding ferocity of the attack on your most sensitive part brought you back to the edge of orgasm. The agonising forced stimulation dragging you to the point of no return as your toes curled and your eyes nipped as they sought out the maker of all your misery.

For his sins, Crane was clearly engrossed with your reaction, his eyes barely blinking behind the wire frames as he drank in your every whimper and mewl. However, just as the pleasure seemed to reach its peak, he withdrew from your body and straightened himself up to his full height, towering over you as you released a loud sigh of mixed disappointment and relief.

“The examination is complete.” He announced, dropping the remaining needle on the metal tray which sat off to the side of the gurney, “And my diagnosis is in.”

Unclipping the clasp of his slacks, he pulled the zipper down delicately and once again freed himself. From your vantage point, you can make out the slickness of the head of his cock, a tell-tale sign of the pre-cum which has spread there as he tormented you.

“Your physical state is responsive to stimuli of both pleasure and pain with fear and arousal allowing you to experience heightened sensations.” Pulling his hand lazily across his erect length, he continued in a surprisingly clinical tone given how obviously worked-up he was. “The only drawbacks seem to be psychological, demonstrating as mistrust and hesitation, and it is my recommendation that full intercourse would encourage such hesitation to pass.”

Biting back a smirk, you reply with a passive nod instead. 

He wanted to fuck you and you- still plagued by an intense ache of need between your thighs- could agree to that. Shuffling against the restraints, you subtly remind him that you will need to be freed before any further action could be achieved and his hand drops from his cock as he unlatches the restraints around your abdomen and legs before leaning over to release your wrists.

Now free, your hands immediately reach up to your nipples and the needles within them which were continuing to throb even as they were left undisturbed. Your hands were stopped short however, as his cool fingers wrapped around your wrists and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze with an expectant look.

“Leave them,” Crane demanded, using a surprising amount of strength to lift you slightly and spin you in place so that your ass was perched off the side of the gurney and you were brought face to face with him, “I will remove them myself.” Reaching into the back pocket of his slacks, he removed a condom before tearing the packet and pulling it over his cock.

In the heat of the moment you had neglected to think of such a thing but a small part of you appreciated that he had possessed the forethought. Probably did not want to risk a potential pregnancy, that or he was unwilling to risk possible disease. Either way, you chose to view it as a thoughtful gesture.

Accepting that, you instead focus on your goal for the moment; getting absolutely fucked silly on this gurney and to that end you slip your hand in the space between you both and grip his cock, drawing your thumb across the head and receiving a growl in response as he pushes further in against you.

Releasing him for a moment, you dip your finger within your own juices and use those to coat the tip of his cock, preparing him to enter you without too much resistance and he takes the hint immediately. Lining himself up as one arm slips behind your back to hold you in place, he thrusts into you without ceremony and the sudden impalement takes your breath away even as a victorious feeling of satisfaction crawls up your spine.

Setting a brutal pace, Crane continues to drive himself within you, showing no regard for your wishes or preference as he sets about bringing this whole charade to a punishing end. Sparks of pleasure alight as the length of his cock brushes against the nerves deep within with little effort. The arm behind you pulls you forward, and you can’t hold back the grunt of pain as the move forces your chest up against his, disturbing the needles and causing a shooting pain through the mauled nubs.

His earlier stunt with the needle having already brought you close to the edge, it didn’t take long for this rough treatment to have you right back there and a particularly brutal thrust paired with the spark of agony from your tormented chest was enough to push you over.

Gripping the edges of his lab coat like a woman possessed, you hook you legs around his waist and pull him in tightly, ignoring the accompanying jolt of pain, as you keep him sheathed within you while you convulse around him. Pleasure and agony in a torrid mixture only serve to heighten your orgasm and you call out the only name you can attribute to the man before you.

“Scarecrow!” You sob out pathetically as you writhe against him, daring him to pull away, “Scarecrow!”

Maybe it was the title or maybe it was the way you had clenched around his cock as you came but either one was enough to push his own orgasm through, narrowly chasing your own as his cock twitched within you, the condom catching his release as he bucked against your thighs, growing like an animal possessed.

The highs of release were quick to pass and, panting slightly, he withdrew from you and carefully peeled the condom free of his cock as you sat there passively, coated in your own juices and sweat, still reeling from everything which had occurred. 

The euphoria which had engulfed your body as you lay prone had also dissipated and, in its place, a light-headedness and slight nausea made itself known. A low after the high, and your arms wobbled just a touch as they supported you in place.

Having deposited the condom in a wastepaper basket, Crane’s eyes found your own and seemed to recognise the signs of weariness within them. Striding towards you, his hands sought out the needles which were still embedded within your chest and he pulled them free with a familiar clinical detachment, ignoring the whimper which escaped you as both were carefully removed. 

Something damp was placed into your hands as your head span and you glanced down to see a small anti-septic wipe which you immediately ran over the pierced sections of your chest, taking care to clean them properly and collect any of the blood which had been shed. Thankfully, it was very little at the needles were so fine.

A spindly hand gripped your chin and you found yourself forced to look directly into Crane’s face as he examined you.

“You are fatigued and light-headed. There are wipes within that drawer which you may use to clean yourself,” he indicated it with a lazy wave, “and, once dressed, there are several cereal bars and assorted other foodstuffs in the one below that so you are welcome to eat what you need to gain the strength to make your way home. I have business to attend to across Gotham so I will be leaving immediately, and it would not please me to see you collapse on your journey home. Not when there is still so much work to be done.”

As he released your jaw and waked towards the stairs, you had to admit that it was hardly the best pillow talk you had experienced but sadly, not the worst. He at least seemed interested in keeping you alive which is more than could be said for most individuals you suspected crossed his path.

“The Scarecrow is not finished with you yet, witty girl,” pausing at the base of the stairs to offer you one final look, his nickname for you seemed to bring him some amusement, “so keep that plucky attitude for as long as you can because it will be all the sweeter to watch it eventually break.”

Unsure how to respond, you remain silent as his heavy footsteps grow fainter as they retreat from you and you are once again left alone in the basement. Your clothing and hair in disarray, it compared little to the whirlwind of confusion, pleasure, apprehension, delight, regret, and discomfort which swirled within your mind.

Shaking your head to dispel the thoughts, you instead reach for the drawer Crane had indicated contained wipes for you to clean your own mess. You would feel better when you were in the safety of your apartment and could truly sift through the events of the day.

Pulling free a cloth from the drawer and continuing the disturbing trend you had set for yourself only earlier that day, you followed the good doctor’s instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you found this part two as fingerlickin' good as its predecessor xx


End file.
